The Last to Vanish(36)

But in the end, I did. I could only accept so much of her generosity, for fear I might find its limits.

Now Celeste’s gray sedan was probably twenty years old, officially on its way out. The locks hadn’t worked in two years. This past winter, I’d held my breath every time I turned the ignition, willing it to start. I didn’t think it would last another. It was an inevitability that this, too, would go—and now I could only feel how I didn’t want to part with this, either.

Trey opened the passenger side door and folded himself into the seat. The outside of the car may have been dirt streaked and weatherworn, but the inside was immaculate. I cared for it in a way that I imagined Celeste would approve. He would find no stray receipt or candy wrapper inside. I saw him frowning at the dirt his shoes left on the passenger side floor mat.

“It’ll just take a second to get there,” I said. “It’ll probably take longer to find parking.”

I was right. Downtown had transformed with the start of the weekend. The Friday crowd was parked along curbs that lined the storefronts and town green and in parking lots that specified For post office customers only. As if the rules didn’t apply to them.

Beyond the welcome center, just before the bridge, I turned the car abruptly out of downtown, heading down a side street that traced the river. Then I circled back through a meandering residential road, parking where the street dead-ended at a row of evergreens. “Don’t tell,” I said as Trey looked over at me with his eyebrows raised. It had taken me two full summer seasons to figure out where to park on a busy tourist weekend. I assumed every local had their prime secret spot, and this was mine.

I led Trey down the narrow dirt path through the hedges, where we emerged behind the station at the corner, a few official sheriff vehicles in the lot, alongside Rochelle’s red pickup. The entrance was positioned catty-corner to the main street, technically facing toward the welcome center, though the wall of front windows gave Rochelle a clear view of several storefronts along Main Street.

She was sitting behind the front desk as we entered, empty to-go coffee cup in front of her, dark red lipstick marking the paper rim. She had a diamond stud nose ring, expertly lined eyes, a way of looking at you that made you feel as if she could see everything underneath.

She was the same age as me, but remained the one person in town who could make me feel self-conscious in my uniform shirt and work bun. Like I was just playing a part, and she could tell.

She stood to meet us, silver bangles sliding down her wrist as she pushed her hair back off her shoulders. You could see her Cherokee heritage in her long dark hair, her deep brown eyes and high cheekbones. She extended her hand to Trey across the desk. “You must be Trey West,” she said. “The sheriff will be back in just a moment.”

Rochelle had graduated from high school the same year as I did, had just started working here full-time by the time I’d arrived. We all understood that the sheriff relied on her heavily. She’d set up her own system over the years, and others had to abide by it, by default.

She was also secure in her opinions, and had been the only one to tell me, years ago, several shots of tequila in at the tavern when I’d thought we might still be friends, what she thought had happened to the Fraternity Four. I hated tequila, scrunched my nose when she’d ordered it, but joined her anyway. Back then, I wanted her to talk to me, to like me. At first, when I’d asked, she’d been annoyed: You’re just like all the rest, of course. A roll of her eyes. Rubberneckers, everywhere.

But then, just when I thought she wouldn’t say any more, that she’d shut me down, she tipped a shot glass back effortlessly and continued: They fell, of course. They went out in the dark, and they fell in the ravine. Simple and succinct, not offering any follow-up until I pressed. Not worrying about the holes in the logic, the pieces you couldn’t slip together. Speaking with a sort of confidence that bordered on vigilance.

But they were never found, I’d said. Because wasn’t that the mystery, really, at the heart?

She’d thrown up her hands, irritated with either me or the details that refused to connect. Animals. That place is littered with bones, from long ago.

Someone would’ve seen them. They searched.

Jesus, seriously? She’d blinked at me, long dark lashes and deep brown eyes. How would you even know? You weren’t here. She held my gaze until I looked away first.

The fact that she’d worked at the sheriff’s office for a decade, and I assumed she had access to all the files, should’ve been enough. If there was anything worth knowing, any secrets stored in locked file cabinets, any rumors whispered in back offices, she would know. And, from what I knew of her personality, I didn’t believe she would’ve kept it to herself.

“You sticking around, Abby?” she asked as I took a seat in the small waiting area beside Trey.

It was Trey who answered. “Abby’s been kind enough to act as my guide around here. Even took me out to Shallow Falls this morning.”

Just then, the sheriff came in off the street with a single cup of coffee, which he placed on Rochelle’s desk.

“Thanks, boss,” she said.

I had to hand it to her; she was the only person I knew whose boss brought her coffee throughout the day. She tipped her head in our direction. “Trey West, here to see you.”

Trey stood and stuck out his hand.

“Mr. West,” the sheriff said, the sunburn across the bridge of his nose extra pink, either from the heat or exertion. He clasped two hands around Trey’s. “I’m glad you decided to come in after all.” And then, to me, “Do you need to get back to the inn?”